


Let Me Take Care of You

by GallifreyisBurning



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Bathing/Washing, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Child Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, offscreen murder, only OCs died in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26699353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyisBurning/pseuds/GallifreyisBurning
Summary: Harry Potter almost never cries. When he's upset, it usually takes the form of angry outbursts—punched walls and broken vases; flashes of uncontrolled magic and shattering glass. Therefore, when he comes home from a case and breaks down in tears in front of his boyfriend, Draco knows that something truly awful must have happened. He can't do anything about the case, but he can do one thing that very few people ever have for Harry—take care of him.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 39
Kudos: 303
Collections: Drarry26, HP Suds Fest 2020





	Let Me Take Care of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Janieohio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieohio/gifts).



> _For HP Suds Fest 2020_
> 
> **Prompt S30:** Harry comes home from an Auror assignment covered in filth/blood/mud/whatever, but he's so distraught over whatever he saw/whatever happened that he's barely functioning. Draco takes care of him.
> 
> Thank you to [janieohio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janieohio) for the prompt! In a sea of smut, this angsty idea stood out to me. But I threw in a little bit of smut anyway, just to balance it out a bit ;) I hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, thank you to the magical [Mx_Maneater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mx_maneater), the best of betas, and a shout out to [wynnyfryd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnyfryd) for giving it another once-over as my resident angst-loving friend. Socially distanced hugs to you both!

“Oh good, you’re home!” Draco called at the sound of the Floo, attempting to descend the stairs as quickly as possible while still fastening his left cufflink into place. Harry should have been back at least an hour ago, and if they didn’t hurry, they would miss the cocktail hour, meaning Draco would miss out on prime networking opportunities. “We’re running late, so I laid out an outfit for you, but—” He stopped abruptly, the rest of the sentence forgotten. The cufflink, still unclasped, fell to the ground. 

Harry stood, not even two steps out of the fireplace, looking like he might fall to his knees if he didn’t sit down in the next three seconds. His usually pristine Auror robes were soaked, covered in some ungodly mix of what appeared to be water, mud, and—

“Oh, Merlin.” Draco didn’t even remember getting to the bottom of the stairs, but he found himself in front of his boyfriend, hands reaching out to grab his shoulders. “Is that blood? Fuck, we need to get you to St. Mungo’s! We need to—”

“It’s not mine,” Harry cut him off. His voice was hollow. He wasn’t looking at Draco. Now that Draco was touching him, he could feel the other man shuddering.

“What happened?” Draco whispered, not sure that he wanted to know but also desperate to help, to understand so that he could fix it, so that he could get that godawful _look_ off of Harry’s face.

“I wasn’t in time,” Harry answered, nonsensically, his gaze a thousand miles away. “I didn’t… I couldn’t…” 

“Harry, did… did someone not...?”

And Harry’s face crumbled and suddenly Draco almost wished that the empty mask would come back, because _this…_

Harry Potter almost never cried. When he was upset, it almost always took the form of angry outbursts. Punched walls and broken vases; flashes of uncontrolled magic and shattering glass. It was never directed at anyone else, these days; it was always at himself, usually when a case didn’t go the way he’d hoped. He always seemed to think that if he had been faster, been stronger, been _better_ in some way... He’d been like that since the war. Even seven years later, after the trials and the rebuilding, the reparations and apologies, the slow fading and then complete dissolution of walls between the young people who had been pulled inexorably into different sides of a battle where Harry had won but, really, everyone had lost. Harry had forgiven everyone else, but he’d never forgiven himself.

This, though… It must have been bad, _really_ bad, for Harry to be like this.

All thoughts of rubbing elbows with industry big shots at benefit parties gone, Draco wrapped Harry in his arms, caring not a whit for his formerly-pristine white shirt. Harry’s head dropped to his shoulder, and he sobbed, body heaving as though he was about to break apart, fingers digging into Draco’s back. They stood like that for ages, blood and mud and water seeping into Draco’s clothes as Harry cried like Draco hadn’t seen him cry in… well, in as long as they’d been together, and that was going on two years now. “Shh,” he murmured, running one hand through Harry’s matted hair. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

When Harry had finally cried himself out, he began to whisper into Draco’s shoulder, as though he couldn’t bear for the words to be heard, but needed to say them anyway. “It was a burglary gone wrong. A neighbor heard screaming and called it in. We don’t know what happened; the little girl must have surprised them or something. It… it looked like her mum tried to protect her. They were already dead when we got there. I tried to… I _tried_ , but...”

“Oh, fuck, Harry. I’m so sorry,” Draco said, holding him tighter, his heart breaking. No wonder Harry was reacting the way he was. He encountered all sorts of horrors in his work, but a mother who died protecting her child… well. That was too close to home. Far, far too close.

Harry took a deep breath and continued. He was starting to sound a bit more himself, but only just. “We caught up with them just outside Godric’s Hollow.” Draco cringed. Of all the places. “But we were too late for it to matter.” He finally straightened and met Draco’s eyes, and the pain there was unbearable. 

Draco leaned his forehead against Harry’s, and Harry closed his eyes, another tear trailing down his cheek. Draco brought one hand up and brushed it away with his thumb. “I’m so sorry, love,” he repeated. Harry choked back another sob. “Will you let me take care of you? Please? There’s nothing more you can do tonight.” Without opening his eyes, Harry nodded.

When they pulled apart, Harry’s eyes focused on Draco’s ruined shirt and trousers. “Fuck, tonight was—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco cut him off, and Harry looked up at him, guilt now mixing with the heartbreak and pain. Draco shook his head when Harry opened his mouth again. “I mean it, Harry. It doesn’t matter. There will be other parties.” He took Harry’s hand and led him upstairs to the master bathroom.

Stepping inside, Draco turned from Harry and took a deep breath before turning on the taps of the large, deep tub. Harry had laughed at him when Draco had insisted on buying the thing, which could easily fit both of them with a bit of room to spare, but he’d quickly come around when Draco had shown him all of the creative ways such a space could be utilized. Letting the tub begin to fill, he moved to the shower and turned the spray on, setting the temperature so high that it was just this side of bearable. 

He turned back to Harry. “Come on, let’s get you out of those.” Harry nodded mutely; he seemed to have run out of words and tears both, and appeared to be edging back toward the near-catatonia he’d arrived home in. He looked lost, and small. He moved his hands up toward the clasps of his robe, but they were shaking. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” Draco stepped in close and unclasped the robes, letting them drop to the ground in a heavy pile of still-wet wool. Without stepping back, he went on to undo the row of buttons down the front of Harry’s shirt and the ones at his wrists, sliding the shirt over his shoulders, letting his warm hands trace over Harry’s clammy skin and allowing it to join the robes on the floor. Harry shivered. Draco dropped to one knee, carefully unlacing Harry’s mud-covered boots, managing to get Harry to hold himself up on Draco’s shoulder while he pulled them off. He moved his hands up to Harry’s belt and fly, easing him out of his trousers and boxer briefs, vaguely registering how familiar these movements were, but how utterly different they felt in this context. 

Standing again, he quickly divested himself of his own clothes and dropped them onto the ruined pile with Harry’s before vanishing the whole thing. Harry might be upset with him for it later, but Draco didn’t want him to ever have to see that set of robes again. He’d pay for the new ones, if the Head Auror gave Harry any shit about it. Harry was more important than clothes.

Taking Harry’s hand again, Draco pulled him forward into the shower. “Come on,” he encouraged him quietly. Harry stepped into the steaming water and shivered again as the hot stream hit his body. His clothes had spared his skin from the majority of the gore, but it was still there—where it had slid up sleeves, seeped through trousers, somehow made it up his neck and into his hair. Draco didn’t ask, he simply pulled Harry further into the water, letting the horror rinse away and down the drain. He wrapped his arms around the other man, letting the clear rivulets stream down them both, and kissed Harry gently on his shoulder. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured again. 

He stepped back just far enough to grab his loofah and a bottle of body wash from the shelf, squeezing a generous dollop onto the mesh and working it into a lather until the shower was filled with the sharp, clean smell of lemon verbena. Gently, he began to rub circles over the back of Harry’s body, covering each beloved inch of golden skin with rich lather. The back of his neck, darker than the rest of him from the sun. His strong shoulders, which always seemed to bear the weight of the world. The stress-tense muscles of his back, the familiar curve of his arse, the strong but still lean legs. 

Draco let the water wash the suds away as he spread them, and covered each newly cleaned spot with soft kisses and sweet caresses. As he went, he could feel the shaking begin to subside, could see the goosebumps fade away as Harry’s body adjusted to heat and comfort. Standing from where he’d crouched to reach Harry’s calves, Draco set the loofah aside to wash Harry’s hair before moving on to his front. 

Harry tilted his head back obediently when Draco tugged lightly at his mess of curls, letting the water soak them through, and then sighing softly as Draco’s deft fingers began to massage shampoo through them and down to his scalp. Once every hint of dirt or blood had been banished, Draco helped him rinse the suds out before once again taking up his loofah and stepping around to face Harry.

He repeated his actions from earlier, steadily circling the foamy mesh over skin, rinsing away sweat and blood and pain and replacing it with love. Arms that had saved Draco in so many ways, so many times. Chest, split by a lightning bolt nearly identical to the one on his forehead, a reminder of all that he had given. Firm stomach. Biting his lip, Draco dropped to his knees.

“Draco,” Harry murmured, and his gaze was complex, now—still full of grief, but also gratitude and love. 

Draco looked up at him, kissing his hipbone softly. He continued his path, over thighs and calves and feet, before returning to a spot he’d been ignoring, despite its twitch of interest. With a deep breath, he set the loofah down and used his soapy hands to caress the delicate crease between thigh and groin, the coarse hair, and then, finally, Harry’s bollocks and cock, which was now half hard. 

Biting his lip, Draco looked up and met Harry’s eyes one more. “Let me take care of you?” It was a question, this time—Draco didn’t know if Harry would want this right now, or if he would be horrified by the thought. But Harry, although he looked tearful again, gave a small nod. 

Stealing more of the foamy lather from the discarded loofah, Draco brought his right hand to Harry’s cock, his left curving around Harry’s hip and his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles there. He stroked the long shaft several times, coaxing it to full hardness, and Harry let out a soft groan and leaned back against the wall. When the soap had been fully rinsed away, Draco began, soft kisses placed gently on the sensitive skin just below where the waistband of Harry’s pants would sit. He moved downward, nuzzling into wet curls before finally licking his way up. When he looked up, Harry was staring back down at him, rapt, and, holding eye contact, Draco swallowed him down.

His movements were slow and steady, not a race toward a goal, but rather a demonstration of all that Draco felt towards this amazing, beautiful, broken man. His lips and tongue moved leisurely over hot, clean skin while his hands caressed hips and buttocks and thighs. Harry had tipped his head back again, leaning it against the wall as he shuddered under Draco’s ministrations. Eventually, Draco picked up speed, urging Harry toward the precipice. When he felt Harry’s cock twitch between his lips, hardening even further as his orgasm approached, Draco pulled off and replaced his mouth with his hand, standing and kissing Harry fiercely while he stroked, quick and firm, pulling him over the edge.

Harry broke the kiss as he came, letting out a sob of release, and then, as his orgasm subsided and Draco loosed his grip on Harry’s cock and brought it up to smooth gently over his shoulder, another—this one full of grief. Draco pulled him into a tight hug, their skin slippery and hot against one another. He rubbed a soothing hand up and down Harry’s back as he sobbed, not shushing him this time, just letting him purge all of the pain and horror from his body.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered when he’d finally quieted, sobs trailing off into whimpers and then into nothing. 

“Don’t be,” Draco told him, smiling a soft, teasing smile as he kissed the other man’s temple. “Cry-gasming is an ancient remedy for breaking down the walls that need to be broken down.”

Harry let out a wet, surprised laugh. He curled into Draco, burying his head in his neck. “Thank you.” He glanced down at Draco’s still-hard cock. “Do you want me to…?”

“No need,” Draco told him. “This is for you; I’m fine for now.” He stepped back slightly. “Do you want to move to the tub?”

Harry looked conflicted but seemed to decide to take Draco at his word, and nodded.

Turning off the taps, Draco led Harry out of the shower and over to the tub, spelled both to turn itself off when it had filled completely and to stay warm for as long as it was full. They climbed in, and Draco settled himself behind Harry, letting him lean back into his chest, bracketed by his legs. He shifted slightly, which caused Draco to, rather unintentionally, poke him in the back. “Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“I promise, I’m okay,” Draco assured him. “I just want you to relax. Can you do that for me?”

Harry sighed, but nodded. Turning sideways, he curled in on himself, resting his head against Draco’s chest. “Thank you,” he murmured again. 

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, holding him tightly to himself. “You’re welcome,” he said, kissing the damp curls in front of him. Then, after a few moments, “You know that it wasn’t your fault?”

Harry sighed again. He was quiet for a few long moments, but then— “I know. I’m pretty sure…” he let out a shaky breath before going on. “I’m pretty sure they were dead before we even got the call. But it still hurts. It still hurts _so much_ , Draco.”

“I know. I know.” He ran a hand up and down Harry’s back underneath the water. 

Harry turned his head even further, pressing his face into Draco’s collarbone. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” he whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t know if I can keep watching people die.”

“Harry…” Draco said. He freed one of his hands to tilt Harry’s head up, making him meet his eyes. He looked so sad, so guilty. “You don’t have to. I know you feel like you do, but you’ve done enough. You’ve _given_ enough.” He moved his hand down to Harry’s heart, pressing it over the lightning scar. “You’ve given enough.” A few stray tears trailed down Harry’s face as he squeezed his eyes shut. Draco kissed him gently, under each eye, and then on his lips, a soft brush of reassurance. “You don’t have to decide right now, okay?”

Harry took a deep, shaky breath before nodding and lowering his chin again, tucking himself back into Draco’s chest. “Okay,” he murmured. Draco knew that this wouldn’t be the end of it; that there were likely weeks or even months’ worth of conversations and debates and self-recriminations ahead of them before Harry could convince himself that he no longer had to be the martyr he’d been carefully molded into when he was too young to understand. But Draco knew unlearning and relearning, breaking down and building back up. He would be there for Harry, no matter how long it took.

They stayed there, curled together in the warm, gently lapping water, for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos keep me going on bad days, so if you liked it, please let me know! Also, I'm over on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gallifrey1sburning), so please drop by for Drarry art, occasional writing, and a smattering of trans-positivity—or just to come say hi!


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